Possession
by Tahti
Summary: It's like they are setting up rules for a dangerous game while already playing it... Not!Jack series.


_A/N: I'm not going to spoil the fun for you and tell you what this story is about, let's just say that if I enjoy the scenario, there must be more people out there who do too... ;) If you feel like discussing it, PM me and I'll let you know my theory._

_If you are new to my stories, this is not Jack. But you will recognize who he is...  
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><p>The next time she joins him on a night out in Camden Town she wonders why he's even bothered. Or she.<p>

It's abnormally cold for May and nobody but the Royal Family is to blame for the drunk hordes storming the town ten times more so than on a usual weekend and she certainly can't be held accountable for his work schedule, but his grumpy demeanor makes it feel like everything is her fault, including the greedy crowds at his stage door.

It's not so much in what he does, but in what he doesn't do. He doesn't look at her much. He doesn't talk much, except for the monosyllabic replies to her questions about the obscure band whose members are currently trashing themselves around on the stage of this local pub turned club and of which she has never heard before. Fabulous Penetrators, or something just as ridiculous. His unreadable gaze is trained on the stage, but he's just standing there, like a stone pillar.

"Why are we even here?" Alice eventually snaps. _Why is she here_, more specifically. They have sex, not beer out of plastic cups in indie bars, that's what they do. And while the palpable tension on him and his mirthless focus and the strained hold on his temper that's wearing thin are hot things to watch from afar, she finds herself growing annoyed as they all rub off onto her, gradually. A night of random crankiness is not her idea of a good time.

"For fun," he shrugs, staring into the air.

"Oh really. I don't see you having a lot of fun," Alice says icily. She really didn't have to be dragged out to keep company to his moods.

But then he shrugs again, wordlessly, and she almost feels bad for him, seeing he's been keeping up with what she imagines must be a rather draining job and Londoners being Londoners have not been exactly shy with providing attention, whether it's wanted or not and she understands that sometimes all you need is a stiff drink and solitude, the anonymity of a crowd serving just as good.

"Look, maybe we should just … _you_ should just go home," she stops herself from placing a hand on his arm; comforting gestures like that may be _merely_ friendly, and their general mutual respect implies a certain twisted level of friendliness, but who knows how many Daily Mail readers keep their smartphones on standby here. "Unwind, play a video game… watch some porn… or whatever it is that guys do to relax."

"I don't fucking need porn!" He barks out with a glare.

"Well, you don't, but since you're not interested in having actual sex, that's your next best option, I'm afraid," her sarcastic tone is as deliberate as her pride is hurt. A reminder that she's just one of many is what she gets for trying to be sympathetic? Well, screw him.

"Who says I'm not interested in having sex?"

"Whatever. Plenty of willing meat in this market, I'm sure you'll find no shortage. I'm leaving."

There's no reaction from him, not the one she's been aiming for and Alice puckers her lips and turns on her heels, heading for the door. As hot as his coarse, unapologetic surliness is to watch, she finds it overwhelming to deal with. Frankly, she's fuming. Yeah, everyone has shitty days and he's never been anything but _polite_ through his struggle to reign in his bad mood, but if the result is silent treatment, she doesn't feel like being the buffer between him and the world. She's not his freaking _wife_. Emotional crutch has never been part of the deal between them.

Maybe the novelty has worn off, she thinks, lighting up a cigarette out on the street. Maybe he needs constant stimulation of chasing new prey and she's too familiar now, too predictable. Too keen. _Damnit! _She should have broadened her spectrum of fuckable when it comes to men. And it's entirely pathetic to be so fixated on him that she can't even look around and pick a random guy to satisfy her hunger. The hunger that he generates by merely existing.

She doesn't make it very far. Barely a couple of blocks from the busy bar but the street seems deserted and suddenly way too dark when there's a strong tug on her arm, seemingly coming from nowhere and she's pulled to the side, into a back lane that she hasn't noticed. Her body hits a brick wall like a ragdoll. Her first instinct is to scream, but the attacker has his other hand clamped over her mouth already. Then his hard body pushes against hers, and it's all been seconds, but the adrenaline makes her tremble inside and it's almost pitch black where he's trapped her and her free hand is frantically trying to push at him, but of course she recognizes him immediately.

"Fuck!" He jerks his hand away from her mouth when she bites into it.

"What the _fuck _are you doing?" She hisses.

"You don't walk out on me like that, Alice."

"Let go of me!" She wriggles her arm trying to free herself from his grip. Her system is still on the highest alert, stuck on the _fight or flight_ response.

He just grabs her writhing arms by the wrists and pins them to the wall on either of her sides. His bearded jaw is set and his eyes dark and icy and she wonders if he's crossed the line of sanity and what tipped him and that maybe she doesn't know him very well at all.

"Don't be ridiculous," she yanks her arms, in vain. "What, do you have some new insecurity now that needs placating?" She snorts, not very sure if mockery is the right approach. "I'm not your fucking property, let go!"

"Yes, you are," he drawls in a low tone, as if watching her squirm only strengthens his resolve. He lowers his head to speak directly into her ear. "And you like it."

She realizes what he's doing then. It is a power trip, but of another kind: he challenges her to _not_ want anything he may do or want from her. Which he knows full well is impossible, she's programmed to want him in any form and incapable of resisting. It's still kind of cruel to use that against her, Alice thinks, and as much as she would normally enjoy being roughly pushed up against a wall by him, she's determined to not give him the satisfaction of proving his complete command over her.

It's stupid and childish and they don't have to do this, wouldn't have to do this if they just met to fuck rather then go on a pub crawl in lame attempts to save the night, if she didn't take his crankiness personally and if he didn't now apparently search reassurance in throwing his prey's willingness in her face and laughing.

He presses his body tightly into hers and her eyes close, because it feels familiar and exciting and _good_, but she really doesn't want it to, something she never thought she'd say. For all the stupid, stubborn reasons, she doesn't want to want him, this. Only if just to spite his cockiness. But she's unable to. On the deep visceral level which her consciousness has no access to, she can't switch that off.

And on another level, one that Alice doesn't quite understand, not wanting to want this makes it a huge turn on. She bites on her lip trying to even her hitching breath. He's practically squishing her between the cold wall and his solid warm body. She can feel his hard-on against her belly and it makes her instantly wet. She knows there's no underwear under his jeans.

"Why do you think you are here, Alice, huh? You asked me earlier."

She watches his face as he moves her arms above her head, to hold her wrists in one of his large hands. The other one makes its way under her jacket and shirt. The way it clasps her breast firmly feels entirely too good for her rebellious frame of mind.

"You are here for me to fuck!" He accentuates with a dry thrust against her, making her knees wobble and her eyes squeeze shut. Her mind is racing: she is his but that doesn't mean she can't say no to him and she does have other purposes than being his fucktoy, but doesn't want to have them when he's around and why does that feel so good when it's so wrong… Suddenly she's on the verge of tearing up.

"Tell me you don't want it," he taunts, his fingers finding her hard nipple underneath her bra and pinching..

"I did before," she whispers but doesn't open her eyes, just shaking her head repeatedly. "Let me go…"

"One magic word, Alice," she can hear the smugness in his voice.

She shakes her head some more, feeling her cheeks burn. She's not going to give him a _yes_, but is unable to say _no_, and he's deliberately torturing her, because she would really, really like to say it.

"Exactly, Alice. You won't say it."

"What if I did?" She plucks up the courage to open her eyes, to find the same dark, insolent look on his face.

"You can't."

"No." She says it with emphasis, heart thumping in her chest, because she's not sure which course of action she wants him to choose and what does it say about her.

He bares his teeth in a predatory grimace that's not really a grin.

"You don't get to say _no_ to me, Alice."

Alice wonders if her lack of insisting or pleading is what assures him that the _no_ is only halfhearted, that she's willing herself to say it, and if she did insist would he free her or does he know that it turns her on to hear him speak like this and follow through. He probably does, on the level that makes them want the same things from each other and instinctively and faultlessly reach for them. Is her protesting turning him on? He's never had that, has he, a woman rejecting him.

"Why are you doing this?" She says weakly, because he's got his knee parting her thighs and pressing…

"You can pretend you don't like it all you want."

"You're using me." For the dwelling in the notion of how much power he holds over her. That she's practically his sex slave, willingly, whether she likes it or not.

"You like to be used." He says it so close to her face, that she can feel his hot breath, smell the apple brandy on it, and his beard tickles her lips. But when she feels his lips touch hers, aggressively, she turns her head to the side. It's fairly stupid, considering how his kisses rev her up, but she's frustrated with how being so revved up by him is messing with her head right now.

"Okay then," he moves his face away from hers, studying her helpless form through narrowed eyes. She tries to break her arms free from his steel grip, realizing that she'll definitely cry if he walks away now, that he needs to go on with it, can't take her to that dark, confusing place and leave her alone-

"I have to say… The little fight you're putting up is kind of hot."

But then, with one hand, he unbuckles his belt and yanks it out of the loops and just like that, her hands are behind her and he's securing a pretty tight knot.

"Until you stop it, though… It'll have to be like this."

"You don't want me to stop it," she observes, now rendered powerless and vulnerable in her position and trying to decide if it's more exciting than it is scary. Or infuriating, in his assuming that it may be exciting, because his assumptions have been right so many times and yet they are just that: cocksure guesses. It's like they are setting up rules for a dangerous game while already playing it, a definite recipe for disaster… with anybody else but him.

He doesn't reply, just takes his sweet time to unbutton her jacket, then her shirt all the way down, making her feel naked and exposed despite the darkness that hides them from the random passersby who she can hear chattering away on the main street.

"Are you going to scream?" It comes out like taunting. He's still hindering her movements with his hips while whispering into her ear, moving his hands up her naked ribcage until they reach her breasts. His fingers dip into the cups of her bra and shell the supple flesh out of the lacy material. The bra has a front clasp, but she's not going to make it easier for him by supplying the information.

"Yes, you are," he states when she doesn't make a sound.

It's clear what he means. He's so damn sure of himself and his ability to turn a woman into quivering mess that craves whatever it is _he_ wants even if she's unwilling. If she really was. But Alice doesn't want to be willing, that's the twist that gives her the extra thrill. That's why she keeps very, very quiet and very, very still when he dips his head and bites on her nipple. She presses her lips together in a tight line. He knows what it does to her but Alice stubbornly withholds from showing it. That's one thing she can control here, letting him know if he's got to her or not and she wonders just how much control she _really_ has over anything right now - herself or the situation - and the unknown turns her on even more, disturbingly so. Also, she doesn't want the staggering drunks to discover them.

His hand shoves up her skirt, unceremoniously, grabbing her by the buttock and pushing her hips forward, forcing her body into an arch if she wants to keep her balance. "I know you're so hot right now that you don't even feel how cold the air is," his other hand joins in for the task to get her skirt all the way up, bunching the fabric around her waist.

The bastard is, of course, right. And it has never annoyed Alice before that he can read her damn mind. "You have no right- " she hisses, the shiver down her spine telling of the exact opposite as his hand cups her crotch roughly. She's granted him the right the very first time when she stuck her fingers down her panties imagining him.

"Of course I don't," he snorts. "That's why you want this so much." She knows she's soaking wet, she can smell herself in the heat bubble of their worked up bodies that surrounds them.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," she breathes. Even freaking rape victims get wet, right?

"Not like you have a choice anyway," his fingers find their way between her folds and Alice fights the instinct to let her head fall back and her eyes shut. Instead, she keeps them staring directly into his, defiantly. No, she has no choice how to respond to him. What is really exciting, though – and scary, and thus even more exciting – is the notion that he may mean it in another way. Maybe wondering what happened to his obedient little slut is what does it for him, too?

"Now say…" He rams two long fingers inside her hole; "…that you don't…" He curls them up hitting her sweet spot; "…want this." Shit. Why does he have to play her body against her? This is still about proving his point, isn't it, about _breaking_ her, in a way. But Alice is not caving, the game too tempting, as much as it's risky.

"Do you care?" She dares, fully aware of the thin line she's treading. And of how blurry it is in her own mind constantly contradicting itself. And that maybe she isn't the one who is being used here, or at least not the only one.

His free hand curls around her throat, his eyes inspecting her powerless position while his thumb traces the contour of her jaw. "You would like it if I didn't, wouldn't you." He's somewhat astonished. She can tell he's contemplating a shift in the game, or the game he's been playing, because the motivations behind each of their minds may be quite different. Alice shakes her head _no_ and she means it. She's suddenly more scared than turned on and perhaps that's the right moment to call it quits, beg or blackmail if necessary, but there's the undeniable buzz found in fear and in giving up all control and… Oh, fuck that, she should stop with the rationalization, there will be time for auto-psychoanalysis later.

"Your mind's a twisted place," he says, as if reading her thoughts.

So is his. Alice knows that he does care if she wants him to touch her, but that's precisely why he wouldn't stop now if she told him to. That he's got his own scenario he's following and his own urges that are less than noble. He hates feeling out of control and she's the easiest target to regain it on. No way of telling how aware of that he is. At least now he knows why she's not cooperating.

His fingers are out of her pussy by now, smearing her juices down her thigh and he's opening the fly of his jeans. His cock springs out, hard and glistening from precum in the random ray of headlights of a passing car. Damnit. Alice feels betrayed by her own body, because the little voice in her head is now poking fun at her for being stupid and trying to resist _that_. He's done with _coaxing_, though. No more foreplay. He rolls a rubber on himself almost impatiently but with expertise that could make her blink and miss it if she wasn't looking directly between his legs. She gasps when he grabs her right leg and hooks it over his hip and pushing the crotch of her panties to the side, buries himself in her in one hard thrust.

"What I don't care about now…" He withdraws and thrusts even harder, if that's possible. He holds her thigh in an iron grip. "Is how much you say no… If you do…" Stretched and pushed from the inside, Alice feels warmth spreading through her body, the flush creeping up her chest. "You don't mean it."

"How can you know?" She objects breathlessly, because it would be with perverse pleasure if she said it now, being at the mercy of this man has never been less than a very, very good thing.

"Because-" His face is a breath away from hers and she can taste the air he exhales, but he doesn't make a move to kiss her again. "-you get off on it."

Her eyes well up with sudden tears that she's desperately trying to blink away. He got it right and Alice isn't ready to take that fact and examine it, she has no idea what it means and if she really doesn't want this, being fucked hard in some dirty back alley with her clothes still on, by a man that yes, turns her on on principle, but who may have manipulated her into this and why, _why_ does it have to feel so fucking good! She feels exposed in more sense than one and maybe even embarrassed, no, _humiliated_. Which only adds to the excitement.

She lets her head fall forward and her brow rest against his shoulder as he lifts her up completely, making her sink on him fully. She hooks her ankles together behind him and he blocks her body against the wall and pushes up.

"My hands..!" She gasps, because the move has trapped them at a weird angle and they scrape against the coarse brick surface now. He curses under his breath and immediately places her back down untying her hands.

"What the fuck… Stop it!" He barks. Because as soon as her hands are free, she starts pushing against him, squirming her hips away from his, making him pin her arms to the wall again.

"Make me."

She's on an emotional rollercoaster. It's a mess. But it's addictive, it's a pretty damn potent kick and she wonders if he's going to think now that she's insane or if he can be trusted to explore the dark corners of her mind freely.

There's no menace but no tenderness in his eyes either, when wordlessly, his large hand finds her throat again and grips it, tight enough for her mouth to fall open. He doesn't have to say anything else. Her hands stay put where he's placed them as he resumes his position between her legs, holding one of it up. When he drives back inside her, the grasp on her neck tightens with every single push, pulsating and making her gasp and pant. It's not at all strange that she finds it erotic to be subdued and trapped and out of breath, no. What probably should be, is how the words _please stop please let go _are stuck on her mind and how the more she replays them, the more intense the blissful tension that coils in her lower belly gets.

She likes the new determination in his eyes to comply with her fantasy. In a way, it reinforces his idea that women like her enjoy being roughed up even if they refuse to admit it and it's most likely wrong of Alice to contribute to that, but she's past the point of arguing it. It's animalistic and raw and primal and he'll probably leave bruises where his hands are clasped tightly over her flesh and he's made to fuck like this anyway. There'll be dirt under her fingernails from the desperate scratching on the bricks as she tries to hold on to something, _anything_, and her dress jacket may be ruined forever from scraping the wall with every fierce, merciless push of his hips into hers.

It's almost angry, the way he's fucking her now. Not slowing down for a second, the only sound she can hear being his heavy breathing through his clenched teeth and her own, muffled as best as she can with biting on her lips for as long as she can stand it without suffocating. Her nipples rub against the fabric of his t-shirt and the friction of her own panties against her clit is getting her closer and closer to the point of no return, the point a part of her wishes she never reaches because it would shatter any previous objections. But the objections only accelerate the rate of getting there.

Her eyes sting from the effort of keeping them open and from her constricted breathing, she can feel a tear rolling down her cheek, but she won't budge. Not like she's in the position to anyway. She can't tell if he's pumping so hard to reach deeper, to satisfy his own hunger or is it to reestablish his triumph over her and push her over the edge. If it's the former- She can feel the tingling inside her starting to spread through her body against her better judgment.

"You can say it," he grunts. Say what she wants or needs to enhance the sensations, but perhaps not what he wants to hear… Or does he?

Her toes curl in her sandals painfully as the coil inside her snaps and she comes in waves, in a tide, her muscles contracting and milking him and a strangled _argh!_ dies on her mouth under his palm that she's barely aware of him moving from her throat to cover half of her face.

It's like he's got new energy all of a sudden, even _more_ of it. Almost violently, he tilts her hips yet closer to his and keeps going, with a force that might hurt on other occasions, but it only gets her higher and higher, against logic. She's done fighting him, her arms wrap loosely around his shoulders, one hand inching up the back of his closely shaved head.

"Yes," she whispers, defeated, when she feels him shudder against her. He gives her a few more erratic pushes before stilling, his head by the side of hers, touching just barely as he catches his breath. "What?"

"It's always a yes."

He lifts his head and surprisingly, gives her boob a gentle squeeze. She would almost dub it affectionate if she didn't know better. But the smirk on his face is more audible than it is visible. "I know."

"Didn't take you as one with repression issues, though," his tone is back to normal in no time, taking her aback. He's got himself tucked back in his pants before she can even think of straightening her clothes.

"It's not that," she says, defensively, fixing her bra in a hurry to cover up not as much of her body as her exposed_… being._

"No? What is it then?" Fuck. Why does he have to be so inquisitive?

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"I don't want to talk about it." Alice turns to face away from him and buttons up her shirt. She's in no mood to dissect what just happened, not sure if she's ready to do it. When she turns back over, he's got a cigarette lit up and he's obviously relaxed, the edginess from earlier gone. He's proved his damn point, hasn't he, and all is right about the world again.

"Well, what was it all about for you, then?"

"Oh, come on, Alice!" The bastard is actually laughing! "It's fun to pretend that you don't want it and that I don't care."

"You pretended?"

"Not anymore than you pretended to object…"

THE END


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